


A Constellation of Tears on Your Lashes

by PositivePumpkin



Series: Reversed!Omens AU [6]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angel Crowley (Good Omens), Angel True Forms, Angst, BAMF Crowley (Good Omens), Blood and Violence, Character Death, Demon Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt, Other, Reversed!omens au, Role Reversal, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-08-14 04:07:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20185987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PositivePumpkin/pseuds/PositivePumpkin
Summary: In a lovely cottage in South Downs, an angel and a demon get some unexpected guests.Chapter 1 is rated Mature. Future chapters will be explicit with content warnings at the beginning of the chapter.DO NOT READ PAST CHAPTER 1 IF YOU CAN'T HANDLE WHAT IS IN THE CONTENT WARNINGS.





	A Constellation of Tears on Your Lashes

**Author's Note:**

> Angst fic I wrote for the Reversed!Omens au by [speremint](https://speremint.tumblr.com/).

It had been a lovely day. The garden was warm, enough for Anthony to think about taking a nap in the sun. The flowers had been bloomed prettily, the angel cooing encouragements to the buds that hadn’t yet opened. His hands were covered in dirt from planting some tomatoes for the summer, he was sure they would only produce the best tomatoes for Azirafell.

The demon in question was sitting on the swing bench, reading an old book. He was rocking gently, so at peace in this moment. In one languid motion, Anthony stood up, the dirt falling from him as he did so. He was making his way over to relax on the bench, when he felt something… concerning, something ethereal. Immediately he was tense and on alert.

“Azirafell,” Anthony tried to warn, before a flash of lightning struck the grass in front of him, and there standing before him was an angel. Archangel Michael. Fully armoured and ready for battle. From the ground behind Michael, three demons sprung up. Anthony recognized the demons from his time in Azirafell’s body. Hastur, Ligur, and the demon from the trial.

The air around them crackled with restrained energy. Azirafell carefully set his book down and stood. He tried an insincere smile, “Hello, we weren’t expecting guests. To what do we owe the pleasure?” His hands fiddled nervously. He risked a glance to Anthony, whose eyes were locked on Michael.

“You didn’t really think your insolence would go unpunished?” Hastur laughed, a harsh wheezing thing. The demon lurched forward with Ligur and the strange demon following close behind. “No, no, you’re more clever than that.”

“Hmm, It’s such a shame. I rather thought you lot were smarter than this. Surely you know there’s no point? You can’t kill me with hellfire, you can’t kill me with holy water, so what are you going to do?” Azirafell was desperately trying to buy time to come up with something, anything.

“Michael.” Anthony sneered, nose crinkled and teeth flashing, “Heaven’s perfect little soldier. Going to kill me sister?” Anthony’s only priority right now was keeping Michael away from his demon. The Archangel could easily smite Azirafell, and Anthony would die before he let that happen.

“Raphael. This is your penance. You’ve sullied your Grace with a demon. You refuse to fall, you refused to die, we had to do something.” Michael says, her voice hard. She pulled out her longsword from its scabbard. Anthony flinched. That was a _Chereb_. An angel killing blade. He hadn’t seen one since the war in Heaven, and while he hadn’t been on the front lines, he’d seen the damage they cause.

Anthony reacted before either of them could think. He lunged forward, grabbing Michael by her armoured shirt and stopping time around them, sending them to that place he’d sent Adam to years ago. He couldn’t hold this forever, but hopefully he wouldn’t have to.

Michael always was a better soldier than Raphael, and she recovered much quicker than he’d hoped. He felt the blade slice into his side, and he shoved himself away from her before it could do much more damage. He pressed his hands together, the two snakes coiled and writhed angrily down his arm to form his staff in his hands. His wings were raised high and out, feathers puffed up angrily. He couldn’t waste too much power; else time would start back up.

“Your staff won’t do you much good, Raphael.” Michael mocked, slashing the air to remove the blood from her blade. Her own wings were much more relaxed, the three pairs barely twitching. Michael was _the_ soldier. The one who cast out Lucifer, one who fought against the rebellion in Heaven, the one supposed to lead the armies of Heaven against the armies of Hell in Armageddon. Raphael was a being of love, of healing, and had never been much of a fighter. He’d learned, of course, all angels had, being warriors of God. He just hoped he could remember enough to beat Michael, or at least remember enough to help and improvise the rest.

“It’s Anthony, sister, at least call me by my chosen name before you kill me,” Anthony really didn’t want to fight, especially not his sibling. While he and Michael had never really been close, he didn’t really want to kill her. He only managed to kill Sandalphon with surprise, and no small amount of disdain for the prick. And he really needed to think about this faster, because Michael wasn’t going to let up.

“You’re not my brother anymore, Raphael.” Michael lunged forward, using her powerful wings to push her faster. Anthony used his staff to block her swing, the snakes on his weapon lunged for Michael’s neck. She of course, knew this trick and shoved away the staff before the snake could latch on. She sliced back and Anthony found himself on the retreat, jumping away from wicked slashes.

Using his staff, he managed to catch Michael’s blade in one of the loops of his snakes, which eagerly wrapped around the blade. With a wrench he tossed the sword and his staff to the side and grappled Michael. The two Archangels wrestled with each other, Anthony struggling against Michael’s superior strength. She had always been stronger, the strongest of all of God’s forces some said.

“You don’t have to do this Michael; you could just leave us alone!” Anthony bit out, his eyes had started to bleed gold until there was no pupil or distinct iris, just molten gold. The scales of his true form were rippling under his skin, threatening to break free.

“You didn’t give us a choice Raphael! These are the consequences of your actions!” Michael raged at him, before her sword came flying towards the pair, piercing Anthony in the side. Anthony screamed as the Chereb burned at his essence. Michael ripped the blade out of her foe, and she brought her sword high, intent on stabbing it straight into Anthony’s heart.

Anthony caught the sword with his hands, the blade easily biting into them, and with a kick to her legs he fell back, unwittingly taking Michael with him. Michael straddled Anthony’s chest, putting all her considerable strength into stabbing him straight through the heart. The golden blood on his hands was making it even more difficult to keep the sword from impaling him. He could feel his arms shaking, but he daren’t look, his eyes locked on Michael’s.

He could feel the tip of the blade pressing into his skin. He hissed as blood bubbled out of the fresh wound. Anthony shifted his legs and ripped the blade to the side, causing it to slash his chest open, but pierce through the cloud layer instead of his heart. Then, before Michael could recover, Anthony splattered the blood on his hands into her eyes. She recoiled just enough for him to lunge forward and reverse their positions and grab the blade.

His advantage didn’t last long as multiple eyes started opening on Michael’s body and wings, staring Anthony down. He levelled the sword at his sister. She laughed in the face of his glare and moved the blade away with her hand, “you can’t kill me, you’ve always been too _weak_ for that. Couldn’t kill any of the Fallen in the War, couldn’t kill one stupid little demon on Earth, couldn’t kill the antichrist, and you can’t kill me now.”

“Just,” Anthony said shakily, “just leave us alone, sister. I don’t _want_ to kill you, you’re still my family.” He got off of her, sword lax in his grip. He never wanted to fight, he absolutely abhorred violence, but then he’d do anything to make sure Azirafell was safe. He began pacing back and forth as she rose, wings high and mighty. His own wings puffed up in defence, before he growled, “I’ll do it, if I have to. Please don’t make me do this, Michael.”

She sneered at him before launching back at him. He held the blade up but hesitated, and she took advantage. She grabbed his wrist and lifted it high, before placing her other hand on his throat and squeezing. He didn’t strictly need to breathe, being a divine being, but still there was a moment of panic. His hand found his sister’s wrist, trying to get her grip to relax. He tried to buffet her with his wings but was blocked by Michael’s own pairs.

Anthony raised his wings high once more, for balance this time as he kicked his sister as hard as he could in the stomach. She doubled over slightly, but still didn’t relax her grip. He kicked again, and again, until Michael hit him in the face with one of her wings. She flapped once, before smacking him again and again until his face was battered and bloody. He could feel his grip start to go lax and Michael capitalize on it.

In a last-ditch effort of desperation, he let his true form fly free and wild from its corporeal prison. The snakes that had formed his staff now circled him like the rings of planets. His wounds remained, cut into his very essence, golden blood and drops of liquid light still dripping from his ethereal body. He hadn’t been in this form since before time was a concept, well over 6,000 years, before even the Great War in Heaven. He stretched, for lack of a better word, and regarded Michael dangerously, his form rippling with agitation.

**LEAVE MICHAEL.**

It wasn’t a voice, nor even a thought inside Michael’s head, but a force, an order. If it had been spoken to a lesser angel, they’d have left, but this was Archangel Michael. A force to be reckoned with in her own right, and not one to be intimidated by her ‘little’ brother. Instead she scoffed at him, “still trying to get me to leave, Raphael?” She then screamed, “I am not going to leave until both you and your filthy pet demon are destroyed!”

**THEN PERISH.**

The plane of existence that they were in shivered, time moving forward a couple of seconds, before it stopped again. Anthony coiled up as his sister flew into the air, baring fangs dripping with starlight he struck as she raised her sword at him.

Azirafell felt Anthony’s power, a familiar burst before the two Archangels were gone in a flash of light. He remembered the feeling, from years ago, when the angel used his power to stop time and send them and Adam into a different plane. He hoped, at least, that was what had happened, that his angel had taken Michael away to battle it out. Actually, he hoped that wasn’t the case, thinking on it. His angel wasn’t a fighter, his sweet angel was more likely to get himself killed.

He felt another flash of power, and briefly could see a mass of light and shifting scales and wings. And Michael, wings raised and _Chereb_ in hand. He couldn’t stare long, however, as the other demons were on him. He tried to call up Hellfire, anything, but he was surrounded, as the three grabbed him. A final, bright and powerful flash had all four demons pausing and looking back.

There laying on the ground, head turned towards the demons was his angel. Anthony. His eyes, normally a bright and vibrant gold, were pale and unfocused. In his chest was the _Chereb_. Bright gold, glittering with the divinity that was splashed all over the dear boy, the ground, and- **Michael.** Michael looked at the demons with disinterest, eyes briefly stopping on Azirafell, held down by the arms of the others. She grabbed the hilt of the blade, and stepped on the chest of his dear boy, before ripping the sword from him with a scraping sound and a squelch.

Horror was quickly replaced by rage, in Azirafell, he bared his fangs, as bloody tears began gathering in his eyes. He couldn’t form a sentence with the anger clouding his brain, could only sputter and shake with the powerful rage wracking through him. Beside him, Hastur laughed, chokingly, the wheezing noise causing his whole body to shake in his mirth. Even Ligur was smiling. The unnamed demon looking between Azirafell and the angel on the ground, whistled appreciatively.

“Keep him still,” Michael said, before walking over towards the demons. She slashed her sword, the golden blood flying off it and splattering on Anthony’s plants. Azirafell lunged forward but was held fast by the other demons. He felt Hastur’s grimy hand in his hair, before he pulled and held Azirafell’s head back, neck exposed.

“How could you,” Azirafell spat, venom dripping from his voice, “he was your brother.” He could see the almost imperceptible flinch, one the other demons didn’t notice, but his eyes were trained on his angel’s killer. He once again tried to move forward, pulling at the demons hanging on him.

“He left me no choice,” Michael said, uncharacteristically solemn. She raised the _Chereb_, pointing at Azirafell’s neck, before she said, “Now then, it’s time to end this, fiend.” Azirafell flinched at the endearment, painfully reminded of _his_ angel. Michael brought the sword back and with one quick slice all Hell broke loose.

Hastur’s head rolled on the ground, his grip slackened and Azirafell looked up in confused horror as he was splashed with black ichor. The other two demons were stunned as well, but Ligur looked back at Michael with unconcealed fury. Taking advantage of the confusion, Michael managed to stab her longsword deep into the unnamed demon, before narrowly dodging a blast of Hellfire from Ligur. Azirafell, now free from the demons, skirted the fight and went over to Anthony’s body on the ground. He saw the wings, all six burned into the ground, a sure sign that the angel was dead, not discorporated. Bloody red tears poured freely from his eyes, streaking his face crimson.

He could feel occasional blasts of heat from behind him and a flare of light that burned more than the heat. Azirafell couldn’t focus on the combat behind him, could only stare at the lifeless angel in front of him. When he reached out to touch the dear boy’s face, the form in front of him flickered. Confused, and concerned, he reached out fully, caressing his angel. The form shifted then, and it was no longer Anthony in front of him, but Michael. His head whipped around, and there was Anthony, fighting Ligur by himself, gold painting the ground as his wounds bled sluggishly. His breath was coming out in harsh pants and his movements were slow and jerky, one of his legs dragging.

Michael’s blade skirted the scales of Anthony’s true form, while his maw tore into one of the wings of his sister. She screeched and wailed in pain and anger, before slicing into him once more with her blade. He roared and snapped at his sister, spitting acidic venom like a meteor shower.

Michael protected herself with her wings, causing them to get horribly burnt and tattered, but still functional enough, so long as she pushed past the pain. She once more sliced at her brother, chipping scales off him and pushing right into him. He curled around her, squeezing, his essence wrapping around the other Archangel. She twisted the blade, wrenching it further into him.

He bit into Michael and filled her with his starlit venom. Michael shifted and screamed, until she began changing, her form rippling and expanding out of her corporeal body. Anthony found he could no longer wrap around her as her true form broke free. Flashes of metal and scales and fur and feathers and light.

Her true form was still smaller than Anthony’s, but then most Archangels were smaller than him, his form was long and sprawling not unlike Earth’s snakes. Michael was built for combat, all condensed power and speed. The _Chereb_ gleamed in the light of the two Archangels, still held by Michael, even in her true form. Michael regarded her brother, the being before her riddled with stars and holding the light of the sun in his wings.

She raised her sword and launched herself at Anthony-no, this was Raphael now, finally falling back into his old form, his old self. The serpent-like being coiled and hissed, a whistling sound not unlike a comet falling to Earth. The two ethereal beings traded blows: fangs clashed with sword, claws met screeching metal, viscous poison and holy fire melted through ethereal light.

If ethereal creatures could feel tired, the two beings were starting to feel it. Raphael more than Michael as divinity and Grace bled out of him, his power beginning to wane and soon time would start back up again. With all the desperation of a no-longer-man-shaped being, Raphael reached into the cosmos and pulled strength from the very stars he helped create. The thought of extinguishing nebulas hurt, but he’d rather all the stars in the sky went out than lose his demon, which is exactly what would happen if he lost this fight.

The light of the stars burned cold in his centre, his core, where all what remains of his Grace lay. Raphael took that impossibly cold star-fire inside him and pushed it out, burning away everything, eating at Michael’s Grace. When Michael tried to retreat, Raphael wrapped himself around her once more, coils and coils covering her and forcing the flames of what humans so naively called the Heavens into her.

Once the light faded and he was burnt out, he found himself back in his humanoid shape, staring down at Michael (also in her humanoid shape), and for the moment, she appeared to be stunned. Raphael picked up the _Chereb_ from where it had fallen from her grip. He felt his body trembling, but it almost felt far away, like he was possessing this body instead of it being his. And that gave him an idea to defeat the demons that were waiting when this fight was over. But it’d have to be quick, his power was fading, and he was running out of time, literally.

He took the sword and held it above Michael’s chest, and despite everything, the fear, the desperation, the horror, the pain, he still hesitated. Michael kicked out, hitting Raphael’s knee and with a loud snap he crumbled. She scrambled for the sword and soon the pair of almost-all powerful beings were rolling around on the ground a bit like children. It was in this mad tussle the sword was torn from Michael’s grip and plunged deep in the heart of the Archangel.

“Forget about me?” Azirafell whispered into Ligur’s ear, as he held up the demon’s arms. The _Chereb_ pierced up Ligur’s stomach into his chest, popping out of his shoulder. Azirafell dropped the newly killed demon, before he looked at Anthony, but he didn’t see his angel. He saw the Archangel Raphael before him. “Anthony,” Azirafell whispered, arms out to indicate he wasn’t going to fight, “you did it, dear boy. They’re gone now. We’re safe.”

Recognition flashed briefly in the angel’s molten gold eyes before they shuttered closed and Anthony stumbled and fell forward. Right into Azirafell’s arms. He heard a muffled sound, against his coat, which was no doubt ruined with blood now, “azshiffflll.” All the power he’d been using to keep himself upright and fighting bled out of him, literally and figuratively. The adrenaline, or at least, the celestial equivalent, ran out and left him barely conscious.

“I’m here, dear boy, I’ve got you,” He whispered soothingly into the angel’s ear. Carefully, he lifted the angel up, and carried him into the house, stepping over the corpse of Ligur and the others. The poor angel was still mumbling incoherently into the demon’s coat. Azirafell couldn’t pick up any words, except the occasional fumbled noise that sounded vaguely like his name.

The door to the cottage opened before him and he gingerly carried the angel inside, making sure he didn’t hit his head or feet on the doorframe. He walked into the bathroom and set his angel down in the large tub. He went ahead and used a miracle on removing the angel’s clothes so he could get started on patching him up. He tried another miracle to heal the damage caused by the _Chereb_, but it didn’t work, and honestly, he hadn’t expected it to, but he hoped. At least the broken knee, battered face, and the scrapes and bruises from the fights healed up. 

He moved to leave, to get supplies, when a dangerously cold hand gripped his wrist weakly. The angel was slurring something completely unintelligible. Azirafell shushed him quietly, “don’t worry dear, I’m not going to leave you for long, just got to get something to wrap you with.” He gently pried Anthony’s long fingers off his wrist. His heart clenched as he walked away and heard his angel wail, crying out desperately for him.

He gathered up a jug of warm water, soap, scissors, and old linens. He hurried back to the bathroom, to find Anthony weakly trying to pull himself out of the tub, his arms shaking as the wounds on his hands bled furiously once more. “Azhhuful,” the angel whimpered.

“No, no, dear, I’m here, sit back down,” Azirafell gently pried the angel’s hands off the lip of the tub and eased him back in. He tore a piece of linen and wet it with soap and water and began to gently clean the wounds on Anthony. The angel whimpered occasionally but was significantly calmer now that his demon was nearby. When he was done, he poured the remaining water over Anthony, rinsing him off as best he could.

Azirafell gingerly pat the angel dry, shushing him and whispering soothing words to comfort him, when the angel whined in pain. Anthony was full on shivering now, he was already cold before, but now the poor dear was ice. “Don’t worry, my dear, we’re almost done,” Azirafell soothed, as he wrapped the worst of the injuries in torn linens. By the time the demon finished Anthony was no longer conscious, just laying limply against the side of the tub.

Azirafell picked up the angel gently, taking care not to aggravate the wounds, and brought him back to their bed. He set Anthony down and wrapped him up in the comforters and the old hand-made quilt from the angel’s flat. He thought about the mess in the back yard, thought about the bodies of the demons and the angel, how he’d have to clean it up while his angel rested. Instead of dealing with all that, he took a moment to lay on the bed and curl around Anthony, content to watch the slow rise and fall of his chest for as long as he could.


End file.
